Consequences
by Yue Zing LanPuzz
Summary: "Sleeping with the Queen has consequences, as you are about to discover". This OS is set during series 2, between episodes 9 and 10. Avoid reading if you haven't yet seen episode 9 ! ;) In his cell, cast away from everyone he loves, Aramis must face his own demons.


_"Sleeping with the Queen has consequences."_

Tied to the wall of the prison, Aramis gasped for air as he tried not to worry too much.  
Consequences. He had hated that word for a few years already, and there was no sign that it was going to get any better.  
Consequences. Closing his eyes for a moment, he leaned against the wall, the anguish burning deep inside him. Would Anne be all right ? No, probably not, you fool, he thought. It was very likely that he had condemned her to a gruesome, shameful death. Aramis flinched at the thought and went down to his knees, feeling sheer despair quickly worming its way into his very soul.

– Dear God, he murmured.

He had long lost count of all the times he had whispered or thought these words today ; but for the first time perhaps since he was arrested, he truly meant them. God and His Word had always been of much more comfort than anything or anyone else to him. They brought him solace and filled his heart with peace and understanding. But not this time.  
For this time, the consequences bore way too much weight for him to simply put them aside. The Dauphin. The Queen. Hell, even France Herself was now condemned because of him. A strange, hoarse laugh, not unlike a sob in sound, escaped his throat. He may not have been a King of France, but he very well was King of Consequences. And he sure was father to the Dauphin.

He had failed.

Nothing and all things in particular. He had forsaken his duty, renounced his own pledge to the King ; he had broken his word. Lost all honour. A musketeer he was no more, he had realised that when D'Artagnan had come to the prison earlier, paying what may very well have been his last visit to Constance. The younger man had defied the Red Guard in its entirety to win those precious few seconds at the side of the woman he loved. He had behaved as a gentleman, a true musketeer. What had Aramis ever done for his beloved, if not put her in harm's way in every fashion possible ? Oh, Lord, and what about the Dauphin...?

Blinking up, Aramis tried with all his strength to reach out to his God, praying that He deem right to save the young boy's life, along with the Queen's.

– She was never the guilty one. Please...

He closed his brown eyes again and bowed his head in shame, allowing tears to run down his cheeks. He had no right to ask for anything.

Aramis thought about his brothers. How he had let them down, all of them, because of his foolishness. They had every right to hate him, to leave him to rot and die in his cell. Unfortunately, he had the feeling they would not let him disappear from their life so easily. A pity. He did not deserve such attention.  
Athos had major problems of his own, but had always done his best not to let his drinking interfere with his duty. He had found his true call among the Musketeers of His Majesty and would never be less than the best sword of the regiment. He was a man of honor, not always the most cheerful for sure, but a good man, and a generous one at that.  
Porthos was no one, had no name or inheritance to call his own. He was from the streets and would never try to pretend otherwise. He was a fierce and determined soldier and friend, worthy of his title. Aramis on the contrary rejected his own humble origins, and though he tried hard to help his loved ones and have their back, it appeared he really was not that good at it. Porthos had always been very close to him, feeling perhaps that they had more in common than the marksman would ever admit.  
D'Artagnan, the farm boy, had come to Paris grieving the sudden murder of his father. Gascony had never been much of a home to him, and he had made it his goal to fit right in at the Garrison. A goal he had reached sooner than Aramis would ever have expected, especially considering the arrogant and murderous ways he showed when they met. Still, he had proven himself a loyal and loving friend, and had quickly become a skilled and ingenious swordsman.  
For his part, though, Aramis had gone on with his customary adventures. He already had caused Adele's death and tarnished Isabelle's honour. Now he had killed the Queen of France and ruined his own life, mostly on one single romantic whim. It seemed as though he could not love without causing the destruction of the very person he loved. A chill of fear ran down his spine : what about his friends, his brothers ? He loved them dearly, deeply. For each of them he would gladly give up his own life. However, the moment he had told them of his brief connexion with the Queen, he had also possibly condemned them. Pressing his head hard against the wall, he cursed himself in a mutter, torn between the infinite love he felt for his fellow musketeers and the hatred that filled his heart when he thought about his own actions.

Slowly rocked to a disturbed sleep by his own hopelessness, Aramis suddenly woke up in a start after an undetermined amount of time. His heart still racing after a bad dream he failed to remember, he glanced at the narrow window, only to find that it was dark outside. His whole body was sore after remaining still for such time. Aramis concluded from this observation that he must have been out for more than two hours. Making an effort, the soldier rose to his feet in an attempt to wake and relax his stiff muscles.  
The chains rattled when he moved. He winced when the shackles bit once more into the flesh of his wrists despite the protection of his thick leather sleeves. The Red Guards, getting their orders directly from Rocheford, had not been kind when they put him in his cell.

A soft sob reached his ear at that moment. Aramis lifted his head in a split second, trying to make sense of this one bit of information which had not come from his own head. He felt his heart sink to his feet when he recognized the female voice as being Constance's. Concentrated on his own torments, he had completely forgotten about Madame Bonacieux. He lowered his head while listening to her. She was one of the strongest women he ever knew. She was lovely, clever and determined ; she was amazing. She fit perfectly at D'Artagnan's side. She did not deserve to be here. Anger grew wild and fierce in Aramis' chest, until he thought he would almost be able to break free from the chains. Getting a firm grip on the metal, he tried to tear it from the stone wall, rebelling against the sheer injustice he felt was now France's new motto.

But his efforts of course remained unsuccessful, and he gave up after some time, too frustrated this time to let despair get a renewed hold on his mind. Constance had quickly gone quiet, and Aramis felt a strange relief in not being forced to listen to her cries. He paced around for the next three hours, wondering what would be Rocherford's next move. He was certain Tréville and all the Musketeers would act on their own, which would inevitably bring up a reaction from the First Minister of France.

For every cause has a consequence.


End file.
